


Legends in the Multiverse

by Zephyrfox



Series: Legends in the Multiverse [2]
Category: GoldenEye (1995), James Bond (Classic movies), James Bond (Craig movies), Legends (2014), Merlin (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alec isn't himself, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, He's Aleksei, M/M, Multiverse, Organized Crime, Original Character(s), Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Time Travel, Timey-Wimey, Triad Verse, sort of, wibbly wobbly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-09-21 01:19:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9525170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephyrfox/pseuds/Zephyrfox
Summary: There are many versions of Alec Trevelyan in the multiverse, no matter their names or their backgrounds. Suddenly finding themselves in a body similar to their own, in a world not their own, forces them to adapt and find a way home.When Aleksei Sokolov, formerly Alec Trevelyan, lost his soulmate James, he declared war on MI6. Then he woke up in a world that wasn't his own, with no way home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Different Paths](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8576473) by [jaimistoryteller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimistoryteller/pseuds/jaimistoryteller). 
  * Inspired by [Real Legend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7351723) by [Zephyrfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephyrfox/pseuds/Zephyrfox). 



> This is an au of my [Real Legends](http://archiveofourown.org/series/499129) verse, as well as [Jaimistoryteller's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimistoryteller/pseuds/jaimistoryteller) [Different Paths](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8576473/chapters/19663888). 
> 
> In Real Legends, Martin Odum discovers that he is really Alec Trevelyan, and he'd been subjected to an experimental procedure that left him believing that he was Martin. He was drugged for four years to keep his original personality suppressed. He goes though withdrawals as he recovers, and suffers from memory lapses. In this AU, the drugs allowed his subconscious to make contact with other versions of himself, and use their lives to make up his legends. One of those was Aleksei Sokolov.
> 
> Aleksei, once Alec Trevelyan, went undercover in a mission to Russia. He was badly injured. A few years later, his MI6 handlers told him that his soulmate, James Bond, was dead. Then they tried to kill him. When he recovered, his only thought was revenge.

 

Aleksei woke in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room. He sat up, scanning his surroundings. Things looked… different. Not quite normal. But in the dim light, he couldn’t say what the difference was. He didn’t think he was in Moscow any more. The traffic noises outside suggested a city, but which one? 

He stood, contemplating the closed door that undoubtedly led out to the rest of the…  House? Flat? Given the look of the windows and the traffic noise from below, it was a flat.

He scratched his chin –

And froze. There was stubble under his fingers. He  _ never _ went unshaven. Never. What the hell had happened to him?

Then his knees gave way, and he collapsed back onto the bed, trying to force air into his lungs. The stubble was on his  _ right _ side. How? How was that possible?

He swallowed, unnerved. Slowly, cautiously, he stood again, and moved toward what he suspected was the bathroom door.

It was. He flipped on the light and forced himself to look into the mirror.

He gripped the counter, unable to believe his eyes. It was his face, only not. Older, lined by age, and  _ unmarred by the scars that he had borne since Arkhangelsk. _

 

~~~~

 

He didn’t know how long he stared at the impossibility in the mirror, but he finally managed to pull himself away. It was time to figure out where he was. 

He had been at home, in Moscow. He smiled at the memory of Dayesi’s body moving beneath his as they made love. He had fallen asleep after she left the bed to go to her lover. His mind balked at imagining that. The arrangement between all three of them worked to their advantage, but thinking about Lidiya and sex was just wrong. She had been under his protection for too long for him to even consider the idea.

He looked at himself in the mirror again, the sight of his unscarred face too strong of a pull for him to put off for long. Then he realized another oddity. His soulmarks were gone. The skin where his marks had been was smooth, showing no sign that the marks had been surgically removed. It was as if the marks had never been there. 

He traced the missing marks, his fingers following the familiar lines that were no longer there. He mourned the loss of the storm cloud under his left arm, his last link to James. The small tree on his right hip had only shown up after Arkhangelsk; he had never found his remaining soulmate. That was probably for the best.

He checked the rest of this body. It was similar to his own, but not identical. There were scars where there shouldn't be, and smooth skin where there should be scars. His muscles were different, as if he concentrated on different areas when he worked out. And this body seemed somehow older than his own, with different aches and pains.

He needed to get dressed, assuming that he could find clothing that fit, and then see if he could leave. He had no idea who had brought him here, or for what purpose. He eyed the shower, not liking the idea of being vulnerable in there. He didn't feel like he needed a shower… He gave his armpit a sniff. Not bad. He wouldn't be noticed in polite society, anyway. He'd give it a miss.

He reached up to feel the stubble again. It was longer than he would have let it get even before Arkhangelsk. There was shaving gear on the counter, several different sets, although something was somehow off about their designs. 

The desire to be clean shaven warred with the novelty of stubble on the side of his face where hair no longer grew. He forced his hand away from his chin. He'd leave it be for now. 

He took a breath, and left the bathroom.

 

~~~~

 

He found masculine clothing in three sizes, suggesting that it was an all-male triad using the room. He was surprised by the odd looking pants he found. They were neither boxers nor briefs, but some combination of the two. He vaguely remembered reading about the new style in one of Lidiya’s or Dayesi’s fashion magazines. He put on the pair that looked closest to his size, and after a bit of adjusting found that they were rather comfortable. 

Next was a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He fingered the green shirt he'd chosen. His James had always loved seeing him in green. 

The last thing he needed was a pair of shoes. He checked the closet once more, but none had materialized in the short time since he’d gone in there for a belt. 

Well. Nothing for it. He was as ready as he'd ever be to face whatever awaited in the flat beyond the bedroom.

 

~~~~

 

He stood in the hallway that led from the bedrooms to the lounge. He had investigated a second bedroom across from the one he'd woken in, and decided it looked like the room of a young boy. Just as with everything else he'd seen, there was something strange about it.

But the bedrooms had nothing on the lounge. Everywhere he looked there was something  _ wrong. _

From the impossibly thin and flat TV, to the stereo that was all lights and buttons, and what looked like a second, smaller TV on a desk otherwise covered with papers, the few electronics he recognized were radically different from what he was used to.

He heard quiet voices coming from beyond the lounge. Possibly the kitchen, judging by what he could tell of the flat’s layout. Should he investigate, and confront his captors, or take the opportunity to escape?

His eyes fell on a pile of shoes by the door. That decided him. Keeping one eye toward the kitchen, he grabbed a pair of shoes that looked like they would fit and jammed his feet into them. 

Then he reached for the door, eased it open, and slipped through.

 

~~~~

 

The sense of wrongness only increased when he hit the street. The cars were completely unfamiliar, sounds were different, and the  _ people — ! _

No soulmarks, anywhere, and everything he saw seemed to be bizarrely designed for pairs rather than triads, as if this world — and he reluctantly acknowledged that it was not his own — was built around dyad pairs rather than proper trios as was natural. How did families function with only two parents? Sure, some relationships started out with dyad pairs, like his with James, but it was a very rare pair that didn’t look for their third.

A newsstand caught his eye. He closed on it, casually perusing the magazines while the proprietor dealt with a customer. He intended to lift one of the newspapers, but the dateline shocked him into fumbling it, drawing the proprietor’s attention. He muttered an apology and walked away at a measured pace.

It was 2015?! No wonder he seemed so much older. No wonder everything looked strange. In his world, it was 1993. 22 years difference. That was an eternity in terms of technological advancement. 

He needed to find a library, assuming this world had them.

 

~~~~

 

He was in luck. He found his way to a library after liberating a couple wallets from people that appeared to be able to afford the loss. He might be a criminal now, but he still had lines he would prefer not to cross. 

Libraries were good places to hide, with the added benefit of the wealth of knowledge available. He needed to learn about the history and technology of this world.

History had happened in much the same way as his own world, with slight differences here and there. As long as he didn’t talk too much about what  _ he _ knew, he’d be fine. He just had to remember that his knowledge was incorrect in this world.

He was stunned by the technological advancements he read about. He found a book series that was written in an easy to understand format, and gritted his teeth in embarrassment as he read them. He wasn’t incapable of understanding, but in this world he was like a babe in the woods.

When he was done reading, he drifted over to the computer stations, and managed to get online and run some searches. As far as he could tell, Aleksei Sokolov didn't exist. Nor did his associates — he had run their names just to check. Pyotr Bogdan, Dayesi Malinina, and Lidiya Raskova had never even been born. Then he checked for his true name, the one he had rejected years before when he found out that his James was dead. 

Alec Trevelyan was dead too, according to the obituary he found. Died in an explosion at Arkhangelsk in 2010.  _ Arkhangelsk.  _ Of course it would be. He bit back a laugh. He was obviously alive and well. 

He reached to close the web browser when he noticed another link. James Bond. He hesitated, then moused over to it and clicked.

The words on the screen kept blurring, making the obituary difficult to read. He swallowed, shaking his head in denial, knowing that was useless in the face of reality. He scrubbed at the wetness on his cheeks.

His James was dead in this world, too.  _ MI6. _ It was their fault. He could no longer get revenge for his James, but he could still get revenge for this world’s James.

He needed to make a plan. He had no idea how he'd gotten here, and no idea how to get home. There had been no sign of alarm or outcry at his escape from the flat, so perhaps no one was looking for him. But that begged the question of why he'd been brought to this world.

He would have to act as though he belonged here. He couldn't risk going back to the flat where he woke up. He still had no idea who lived there or what their agenda was. He hadn’t been restrained or guarded, which suggested they might be allies, but he couldn’t take that chance.

He acquired a hooded sweatshirt and hit the streets, looking for a few more wallets, and a place where the criminals gathered. He needed a new identity.

Then he would destroy MI6.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Aleksei to make plans and put them into motion.

 

Aleksei stopped at a pub, needing food. He ordered, then found a table. He sat with his back to the wall, keeping an eye on the doors and other patrons while he ate.

He considered the flat where he had woken up. It had obviously been a flat for a triad, although this world was built around dyad pairs. What did that mean? Were there others from his world in this one? If so, how had they gotten here? Did they know how to get back?

And what about the clothes? One set fit him comfortably, in styles and colors that he liked. He’d actually hesitated over several pairs of jeans and t-shirts before settling on the ones he had ultimately chosen. Had he, this-him, lived there?

His fingers found their way to his chin, absently scratching through the stubble.

Maybe they were this-him’s allies after all. But why bring _him_ here? Where was this-him? Back home, in his own world? Had it been an accident that he’d ended up in this-him’s body? Or deliberate?

No, he couldn’t take the chance of contacting them. Maybe later he would try to identify them and find out what they wanted. In the meantime, he had revenge to plan and execute against MI6.

First, though, he needed money, food, and shelter.

He forced his hand away from his chin and ate a chip, his mind whirling with ideas and possibilities.

 

~~~~

 

It had started raining by the time he left the pub. He drew the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, hunched his shoulders, and began walking.

He decided to get basic necessities taken care of first. He was sure that this-him would be missed eventually, so he needed another identity. For that, he needed money.

Gambling would be the easiest way to turn his nest egg of stolen cash into an amount sufficient to begin putting his plans into motion. He wouldn’t blend into a casino dressed like this, but he was confident that he could locate an illegal gambling den.

He was — well, he used to be — a Double O. Gambling was one of the things they did best.

 

~~~~

 

His plans were coming along nicely. He had money, a small flat, and a tentative connection to some members of a crime syndicate. He was looking for one where he could oust the current leadership and take control, like he had with the Makarovs back home, and turn them into his own Janus syndicate. It would be harder without his loyal three, which meant he had to be careful. He had no one he could trust, no one he could rely on.

This evening he was in the tiny flat he had rented, taking time out of his preparations for something just as important. He sat hunched over a pad of paper, and with swift, sure strokes he sketched his storm.

When he was finished, he studied the drawing. It had turned out better than he’d hoped, but something was missing. His tree. He began drawing again, his pen unwavering as it moved over the paper. He was startled to find that he could recognize a rowan taking form. His second soulmark hadn’t quite settled before he… left. He touched the tree on the paper, tracing the trunk and one of the branches, hoping wistfully that his other soulmate was happy.

In the morning he would take the sketches to the tattoo artist he had found. No tattoo could take the place of a proper soulmark, but he missed his like air.

 

~~~~

 

He studied himself in the mirror. The new tattoos weren't quite the same as his soulmarks, but they eased some of the ache inside. He'd always been scornful of those who had a faded soulmark tattooed on. He hadn't understood the drive to preserve something that was gone. He had viewed them as pathetic. Now, though, he understood the impulse — all too well.

He spared a thought for his host’s body. What would this-him think of the tattoos? If he and this-him were ever able to trade back, that is. It was probably a moot point. He didn't think he'd ever be able to find his way home. He was stuck here.

 

~~~~

 

He spent a week casing the gambling den he found, in a club called Morgan’s. He made friends with the people working and gambling there, smiling, chatting, gambling, and buying them drinks with his winnings. He noted the ones that he thought he might be able to trust, the ones he thought that he might work with, and the ones that he was going to kill.

During that time, he buzzed his hair close to his scalp and trimmed his beard. He had tried, but couldn’t bring himself to shave the beard off completely. Then he acquired some new suits, and got his hands on a Browning. He’d felt naked without some sort of pistol.

When he was ready, he strode through the gambling den as though he already controlled the place. His lips quirked in a smile as he felt the stares and heard the confused murmurs he left in his wake.

At the stairs to the office, he jerked his head at the guard, Ruan. “Go on. Out of the way, and you might survive the next hour.”

Ruan’s eyes widened and he stepped away from the staircase. “Yes, sir.”

Aleksei put his foot on the first step, then turned, putting his hand out to the guard. “Weapons, please. I don't care to be shot from behind.”

Ruan swallowed, and then handed over a pistol and a pair of knives.

 _Good._ “Wait here. Come up when the shooting is over.” He didn't wait for an acknowledgement, and took the stairs two at a time up to the office.

He took a breath, drew his Browning, and opened the door. The boss and his men were startled to see anyone entering the office without an invitation. He brought the pistol up and shot them all, one after the other, before any of them could draw their guns, let alone return fire.

He was standing there, waiting to see if any of them were still breathing, when movement at the door caused him to spin and aim. It was Ruan, who stopped short and stared at the carnage.

“Ah, good. You can follow instructions. Clear the building of the marks, and get everyone up here, now.”

Ruan nodded. “Yes, uh… Yes, boss.”

He smirked as Ruan left. Perhaps he had found a second. Not that he’d trust the other man, of course.

It was a surprisingly short time later when everyone who worked at the club assembled in the office. He gave them a few moments to absorb the fact that the corpses of their former boss and three of his men were still lying where they had died.

He tilted his head, considering. He was going to have to get the rug replaced. There was no way that much blood would come out. Then he clapped his hands sharply, smiling inwardly when every eye locked on him. They were intimidated enough. It was time to give them their options.

“I’m the new boss. Call me Janus. You have 15 minutes to decide to work for me or get out. If you decide after that time that you do not want to work for me, I’ll kill you. Cross me, and I’ll kill you. Betray me,” he let his smile turn predatory, “and you’ll wish that I _would_ kill you.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is going smoothly - so far. Aleksei's club is doing well and he's making plans for his revenge. Then fate drops something unexpected in his lap, and a stranger turns up at the club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure how to tag this, but there is a mention of something sad in the second section of this chapter. It's only a quick mention, but if you want to be prepared (or spoiled) please see the notes at the end of the chapter.
> 
> There's also an instance where two characters dislike each other intensely, and there's some agender intolerance.

 

Talwyn wiped down the counter. It was the last thing she did every night — well, morning — before leaving Morgan’s. 

Tali had been a bartender here for three years. It was a good, steady job. She just had to serve drinks, keep her eyes and ears shut, and ignore anything illegal. She enjoyed the people she met, and got on well with the other employees. In fact, she'd met her girlfriend, Eiluned, here two years ago. 

Eily was one of the club’s bouncers. No one expected a short, stocky woman to be security anywhere, let alone in a place like this. Eily wasn't the only woman on the security staff, either. Laura was just as short, if not shorter. The two women could effectively double team a troublemaker and either defuse the situation or get him or her out of sight quickly. The few that they couldn't handle, one of the other guards could.

Motion on the stairs to the office caught her eye. She straightened, automatically shoving her brown hair behind her ear. It was the new boss, Janus. It looked like he was giving his second instructions. Ruan was following close on Janus’ heels as they crossed the club, heading toward the door. 

“Hey, love.” Eily’s voice came from behind her.

She jumped a bit at the unexpected sound, then turned and smiled. Eily had taken her hair out of the work braid, letting the sandy curls touch her shoulders. “All done, then?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Just give us a minute.”

“Sure.”

She leaned down and gave Eily a quick kiss, dancing away with a laugh as her girlfriend growled and reached for her.

Eily chuckled, and leaned against the bar, watching her with warm, hazel eyes.

Those eyes scanned her, lingering appreciatively on certain parts of her that she knew her girlfriend particularly enjoyed. She deliberately put a little wiggle in her step as she went to get her bag from its spot underneath the bar.

As she stood, she scanned the room. Mattias was counting the till and balancing the books in his office, and two of the guards, Ned and Mac, were at their posts. They were probably watching the cleaning staff out of boredom. When the cleaning was done, they’d be able to lock up and leave themselves.

The new boss had terrified her when he took over. She shuddered, pushing away the nightmarish image of Janus, standing in front of all of them, with the blood-drenched office as a backdrop. He still alarmed her, but she was getting used to that. 

Janus was surprisingly… She hesitated, trying to find a word. Tolerant, maybe? As long as everyone followed his rules. He dealt with anyone that broke those rules quickly and decisively.

He had rules for the ladies plying their trade in the club and in the surrounding area. He made sure they were safe from pimps and abusive customers, and they gave him a surprisingly small percentage of their take for the protection. He also demanded the ladies ate well, had decent shelter, and had frequent medical checkups. Anyone who didn’t comply found herself turned off the patch and not welcome back.

Then there was the drug trade. Shortly after Janus took over, he found out that one of the drug dealers had gotten an underage kid hooked on something. She didn’t like thinking of what happened after. She shuddered again. That hadn’t been an easy death for the dealer.

So far, none of the gamblers running the tables had tried cheating or stealing, which was for the best.

As long as you did your job and didn’t break the rules, you were fine.

“Are you cold? You’ve shivered a couple times.” Eily watched her with concern.

“Just a bit, I guess. Warm me up?”

Eily grinned, and tilted her face up. “Sure. Kiss me.”

She smiled, caressing Eily’s cheek as she bent to take her girlfriend’s lips.

Eily leaned into her, holding her tight, and deepened the kiss, demanding more. 

Tali moaned, all her attention focused on the kiss. When Eily drew away, she blinked, feeling a bit drunk. 

“Let’s go home, lover.”

“You do have the best ideas.” She grinned, and slung her arm around Eily, cuddling her girlfriend close as they headed to the door. After that kiss, she was eager to get home.

 

~~~~

 

His shirt shifted as he walked, sliding and catching against the scabs of the still healing tattoos. Reminding him with each snag of all he had lost in coming to this world. 

He touched his hip, thinking of the tree hidden beneath his clothes, and his unknown third soulmate. Whoever it was would never have a soulmate triad. James was dead, and he was stuck in this world. Would that soulmate’s marks fade, letting him or her know their soulmates were dead? Or would the marks remain, causing them to be ever hopeful of finding their soulmates? 

Whichever it was, he hoped their third soulmate wouldn't remain alone, and would be able to find happiness in a non-soulmate triad.

Today’s path to his office above Morgan’s took him through an alley, next to a kebab shop. A small sound from a cardboard box full of trash caught his attention. Probably a rat. He almost ignored the sound, but instead of walking on, he turned and approached the box. 

It was full of crumpled newspaper and used take-away bags. The mess shifted, and he realized the sound he heard was a faint mew. He automatically reached down, clearing away the rubbish until he found several kittens. Only one was still moving.

He cradled the ball of fluff to his chest. “Hush, little one. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

There was a veterinarian a few streets over. He’d take her there to get her checked over.

His plans for the day completely derailed, he began making new ones. His new companion would need food and litter, a collar, and a name.

 

~~~~

 

He was sitting with his new kitten at the bar. Tali had given him a glass of scotch, eyed the kitten, eyed him, and then sensibly took herself down to the other side of the bar without a word.

All around him, the club was slowly filling as his employees greeted the clientele and got them settled for drinking and gambling. 

The kitten was standing on the bar eating a dish of mashed tuna. Were there health codes that said cats couldn’t be in the club?

A low voice cooed, “What a pretty kitten! What are you naming him?” as Aubrey Cooper came up to lean against the bar for a closer look.

“Her,” he corrected absently, glancing up from his scotch to see the short red spikes of Aubrey’s hair almost in his face.

“Aubrey can’t tell the difference between genders.”

“Harry, that’s not nice.”

“But it’s  _ true, _ Peter.” 

Aubrey shot a glare at the pair of forgers sitting at the table nearby and hissed, “Shut up,  _ Harriet.” _

“At least  _ I _ know what I am, Aubrey.” Angharad Vane’s brown eyes were hard as she glared back at her opponent.

“Aw, c’mon, you two, can’t we keep things peaceful?” Peter Bredon’s clear blue eyes shifted between the two antagonists.

Aleksei had a longstanding policy of keeping out of personal squabbles that didn’t involve him, and stayed quiet, just keeping an eye on them to see if he needed to get his kitten out of the way of a fight. His security would put a stop to things if they got out of hand. That’s what he paid them for. If  _ he _ had to get involved, no one would like the outcome.

Aubrey took a deep breath and deliberately turned away from Harry and Peter to concentrate on the kitten. Aubrey stroked the kitten's white forehead before giving her gray nose a light tap. “She looks like a fluffy cloud.” 

The kitten merrowed in protest, and pushed her face back into her food, her brilliant blue eyes slitting in pleasure. 

He forced himself to breathe, not showing his reaction to a seemingly innocuous word. He shifted to feel his shirt rub against the cloud tattooed on his side, and looked away. A bottle on the shelf behind the bar caught his eye. Yes. That would work.

He turned back to Aubrey. “Skyy. That’s her name. Like the vodka.”

“How adorable!” Aubrey grinned, showing even white teeth. “Hello, baby Skyy, such a sweet baby, aren't you?”

Enough. He reached over and scooped Skyy up, cuddling her to his chest. “Why don’t you go find a mark to fleece?”

Aubrey pouted, then flounced off.

Harry looked like she was about to say something scathing, but Peter distracted her with a question about the drawing they were conferring on.

He stroked Skyy, listening to her purr. Why on earth had he decided to keep her? He had his revenge against MI6 to concentrate on. He didn’t need a kitten to worry about.

Tiny, needle sharp claws pierced his shirt as she began kneading. He chuckled, trying to unhook her claws. “Daft thing.”

Skyy purred louder.

 

~~~~

 

The atmosphere was… subdued when he entered the club after an afternoon spent casing MI6 headquarters. Drinking and gambling still went on, but it was too quiet. He flicked a glance at his security people. They were all in place, but looked uneasy. 

Did he leave, get away from what might be a trap, or stay, and find out what was wrong? Was someone trying to shake down  _ his _ employees, at  _ his _ club? 

The dual impulses had him hesitating at the threshold. 

He froze as a gun barrel made its presence known against his side. Too late. He had hesitated too long. 

“Mr Janus, I'm Mr Moran. Mr Moriarty has requested the pleasure of your company upstairs.”

How the hell had the taller man snuck up on him? Was he  _ that _ distracted? If he survived whatever-this-was, he needed to decide if he was a Double O or a crime lord.

He eyed Moran, and felt a stab of homesickness. Moran reminded him of Bogdan. Not quite so tall, and the face was different, but something about the attitude was the same, along with the medium brown hair and gray eyes.

He was surprised when they made it to the stairs and Moran told him to go up without relieving him of his weapons. He wondered uneasily if that meant whoever he faced was confident that he wasn't a threat. He knew Moran had spotted all of the weapons he carried.

The office door opened when he reached the top of the stairs. A bland faced goon moved aside so he could enter. There was a second goon standing a few feet away.

A pale man with dark hair turned to face him, madness glittering in his dark eyes, with an odd look of almost welcome on his face. 

“Hello, there! You must be Janus. I'm Jim.” His face suddenly shut down. “You can call me Moriarty.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the second section, Aleksei finds a box of kittens. Only one of them was still alive.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Janus encounters Moriarty. Someone is about to have a very bad day.

 

Aleksei stared into the reptilian eyes of the man opposite. “No.”

Moriarty leaned forward, eyes deliberately, hypnotically wide. “Perhaps we can come to a deal.” 

That singsong voice annoyed him. “We don’t need a deal. You need to get out of my place.”

“Technically, now that you’ve removed my man, it’s  _ my _ place.” Moriarty’s eyes turned dead and cold as he hissed,  _ “You owe me.” _

He was about to respond when a flicker of white drew his eyes. He sucked in a breath. One of Moriarty’s goons was getting ready to kick. His. Cat.  _ No. _

His Browning was in his hand without conscious thought; he aimed and fired, dimly registering an echoing shot, then he was diving toward the silly little fluff ball, frantically checking her.

“Is it all right?” 

Skyy mewed in protest at his tight hold on her. He soothed her absently as he stood, staring in surprise at Moriarty.

The other man was holstering his own pistol, staring at the kitten with concern.

“She’s fine.” Why was Moriarty asking about his kitten?

“Good. I must apologize for that fool.” Moriarty turned to the remaining goon. “Go tell Moran to have the trash taken out and send someone to clean up this mess.”

The goon nodded, and hurried out of the office.

“Could I see her?” 

He eyed Moriarity suspiciously. The man’s attention was focused on Skyy. He grudgingly nodded, and moved a bit closer, preparing to spin away to protect the kitten if necessary.

Moriarty’s face softened, his eyes almost warm as he leaned toward the kitten. He offered a finger for her to sniff, then gently stroked her head. “What’s her name?”

“Skyy. With two ‘y’s,’ like the vodka.”

Dark eyes refocused on his as Moriarty’s head tilted, studying him, as if he were a specimen under a microscope. “Interesting.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

After a moment, Moriarty smirked. “I think we can come to an agreement after all. What do you  _ need,  _ Janus? I can help you.”

 

~~~~

 

Aubrey drifted closer to the three at the bar. With an uneasy glance at the strange guards, they asked, “What do you think they want?” 

Harry rolled her eyes and snapped, “Moriarty wants his cut from Janus, of course.”

Peter didn’t allow himself to sigh in exasperation. He had no idea why there was bad blood between the two. Harry and Aubrey had once been close friends.

Tali leaned over the bar, her eyes flicking over to where her girlfriend stood by one of the tables. “Eily said there are more of them outside. In front and in back. They keep switching out.”

Peter counted Moriarty’s guards and came up with the same answer as he had before. Six, plus the two upstairs. Each one that he could see was next to one of Janus’ own guards. He frowned, realizing that he hadn’t seen — “Where’s Ruan?”

Tali shrugged uneasily. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since Moriarty showed up.”

They all traded worried glances. That couldn't be good.

“Do you think we should… I don’t know. Do something?” Aubrey asked hesitantly.

Surprisingly, Harry only gnawed her lower lip, eyes narrowed at the guards. “I’m not sure.”

Two shots, so close together they could have been one, rang out from the upstairs office, shocking the entire room into silence. The leader of Moriarty’s guards stiffened, then headed to the stairs with long strides.

“That’s Moriarty’s right hand man, Moran,” Aubrey whispered, shuddering.

Harry touched Aubrey’s arm in silent support.

They watched, along with everyone else in Morgan’s, as one of the men that had gone with Moriarty into Janus’ office clattered down the stairs to intercept Moran. They spoke quietly for a few moments, then Moran gestured sharply to another man and sent both back up to the office while he pulled out his mobile.

“What do you think that’s all about?” Harry asked, her voice hushed.

Peter shrugged, not looking away from the scene, trying to capture each detail for later analysis. He took great care not to cross anyone too powerful, and Moriarty was definitely someone no one wanted to cross. He didn’t want to cross Janus, either. Both of those options would be losing propositions. Maybe he should consider trying to convince Harry and Aubrey to relocate? France was lovely this time of year… 

Moran spoke into the mobile, having a short conversation before shoving the phone back into his coat. Then he looked up, surveying the room with a cold smile.

The four eyed each other nervously.

 

~~~~

 

Aleksei followed Moriarty — ‘call me Jim’ — down the stairs. They planned to take a table in the VIP section downstairs while his office was cleaned. With the amount of blood spilled in that office since he’d taken over, he was glad that he’d had the carpet replaced with cheap rugs. It was so much easier to toss out the ruined rugs and put new ones in their place.

He made eye contact with a few of his customers and employees, seeing their uncertainty and trying to reassure them with a look. 

Once at the table, Moriarty threw himself into one of the chairs, lounging with one leg over an arm.

Aleksei didn’t roll his eyes. He sat in one of the other chairs and waved over Eiluned Jones. She was one of his bouncers, but he didn't think that Moriarty and Moran were aware of that. She and Laura were his only security people not to have one of Moriarty’s men shadowing her.

Eily eyed Moriarty cautiously before turning her attention to him. “Yes, Janus?”

“Please take Skyy to the bar and keep her entertained.”

She looked surprised, but agreed, taking the kitten when he handed her over.

Moriarty seemed disappointed to see the kitten leaving, and watched Eily take Skyy away before turning back to him. “Let’s talk.”

He nodded. He wasn’t sure if he could trust Moriarty, but if the man was talking then hopefully the situation wouldn’t spiral out of control. He had no doubt that he could take out Moriarty, but with a whole club full of potential hostages under the control of Moriarty’s men, talk was better than action.

Their first topic of discussion covered the details of a partnership between them for Morgan’s. They hammered out a deal in less time than he expected. 

Then Moriarty offered to assist him in bringing down MI6. 

He thought about it for a moment before refusing. MI6 was his to destroy. He had plans that he would set into motion when he was ready. 

Moriarty narrowed his eyes and nodded, agreeing. “Very well. Now that we are in accord —” he lifted his hand, and Moran came forward, standing respectfully at Moriarty’s elbow.

“Yes, sir?” Moran slanted a glance towards him before angling his body attentively towards Moriarty. 

Moriarty smiled one of his eerily cold smiles. “Release our new partner’s second, if you please, Bastian.”

Moran looked faintly pained at the familiarity, but murmured, “Yes, sir.” He straightened, moving back and bringing up a mobile. He turned away from the table while speaking into it.

Moriarty looked pleased. “There. Everything is all settled. Contact me if you need anything to destroy MI6.”

“Of course.” It was easy to agree. He just wanted Moriarty out of his club. He didn’t like the idea of having a partner that wasn’t James, and he didn’t have a proper network here — yet — that would allow him to take out a rival. He would just have to get used to dealing with the sociopath. For the time being, anyway.

Moriarty sprang out of the chair with an amused glance at the nervous faces around them. He bowed theatrically to them, sniggering when their nervousness turned to fear. He swung back, his dark eyes glittering with his strange brand of humour. “Good day, Janus, I hope to see you and your adorable kitten again soon. I believe this will be the start of a mutually beneficial relationship.”

With a mocking salute, Moriarty turned to swagger through the crowd with Moran and the rest of his men following in his wake.

Aleksei watched them leave with narrowed eyes. He wasn’t sure about his new ‘ally.’ The man seemed incredibly volatile. Still, perhaps Moriarty would prove helpful in his quest to destroy MI6.

The club door had just closed behind the last of Moriarty’s men when he spotted Ruan coming towards him. Good. Moriarty had kept his word to release him.

“Is everything all right, sir?” Ruan’s eyes swept over him carefully.

That was… odd? Why would his second care? Theirs was a business arrangement that started when he hadn’t killed Ruan when he took over Morgan’s. He mentally shrugged, and checked that Moriarty’s men hadn’t harmed Ruan. “You aren’t injured?”

Ruan shook his head. “No, sir. They were… polite… about keeping me restrained.”

“Good.” He stood. “We won’t discuss what happened here. Not until I’ve had the place swept for bugs.”

“Yes, sir. Sir —” Ruan cocked his head. “Earlier today I heard some rumors you might be interested in. Someone has been asking about that name you mentioned. Alec Trevelyan.”

He stopped short, staring at Ruan. His hand found its way to his chin to scratch through his short beard. He thought that he had managed to avoid anyone who knew this-him before. If someone was trying to find him, he needed to have his people out getting more information.

Perhaps Jory would turn something up. The youngster was very good at getting into all sorts of places. 

Despite Moriarty’s ‘help,’ he wasn’t ready to take direct action at MI6 just yet.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur discovers where Alec/Aleksei is, and tells James and Q. They need to figure out their strategy to bring Alec back to them. Fortunately, Arthur has a plan. Now, if only James would agree instead of coming up with a plan of his own!

 

“I’ve seen him.”

Jory’s eyes flicked over to the new guard, Walsh, who was speaking excitedly into his mobile phone. Then ze looked away, concentrating on being unobtrusive as ze stood by the back door to Morgan’s, smoking a fag. Walsh’s conversation might not be important, but the boss paid zir well to bring information in. Even on his own men.

The blond head shook, as though the person on the other end could see him. “No, I don’t think he recognized me at all.”

Jory wondered who Walsh was talking about. Another of the guards? One of the marks?

Then Walsh stiffened, standing straight in indignation. “Of course I’m sure it was him! I know what he looks like!”

Jory took a drag, making sure to appear unconcerned. In reality, ze was all ears. This was starting to sound interesting.

“I’m undercover, he thinks I’m just muscle.”

Jory didn’t let zir expression change or zir attention wander. This was, indeed, important.

“Look, meet me tomorrow, and I’ll bring you along. You’ll see.”

Ze would have to bring this to Janus immediately. Jory dropped the fag on the ground, stepping on it and twisting it into the concrete, then ze turned to head back inside.

Jory had just grasped the doorknob when a hand grabbed zir shirt collar and jerked zir back.

“Not so fast, kid. First we’re gonna talk about how much you just heard.”

Ze shrank back in fear as ze saw the cold threat in Walsh’s eyes.

 

~~~~

 

Q watched, not at all surprised, as James surged to his feet and paced the length of Merlin and Arthur’s living room. Frustration in James translated to the need for movement, and the information that Arthur had just given them could be a setback in their efforts to bring Alec back home.

At the far end, James spun around, coming back to the middle of the room with clenched fists. His face twisted with anger as he faced Arthur. “Why did you arrest that kid? You've made him suspicious.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “How could that make him suspicious? He probably doesn't even know the kid!”

“He would,” James bit out. “He would know everyone that works for him.”

Q nodded in agreement. From everything that he’d learned of Alec in the last two years, James was correct. “Alec would. We have to assume that Janus would as well.”

“Well, he wouldn't be suspicious of me, then.” Arthur leaned back into the couch with an air of satisfaction. “As far as he knows, I'm just new muscle that Moriarty sent over to work for him.”

“Are you sure? This Janus sounds as dangerous as Moriarty.” Merlin looked towards them from where he sat next to Arthur, sounding worried. Then, apparently realizing that Q and James were glaring, quickly added, “Of course, I know Alec would never —”

“No, Alec would never,” Q returned sharply.

His brother looked embarrassed and mumbled, “Sorry.”

James’ lips thinned as he turned from Merlin to Arthur. “Fine. Maybe he isn’t suspicious yet. I'm going in with you.”

Arthur nodded. “I said I’d bring you along. It will be easy. I can get you into the club, and you can blend in by gambling a bit until you spot him.”

“No. I mean I’m going in with you. Undercover.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped. “What? Are you serious?”

“Very.”

“Christ. You're insane.”

“He's a Double O, so pretty much the same thing.” Q raised his brow as he addressed his brother-in-law. “Arthur, James is the only one who can get close enough to Alec to get him to remember.”

“But you’ve said he's not Alec right now. He's Janus, whoever that is, and he doesn’t know James,” Merlin pointed out.

He glared at his brother again. “Which is why James needs to talk to him.”

Arthur crossed his arms. “The whole reason I'm undercover is for a police sting on the illegal weapons trade. There's illegal gambling and drugs, but it's the weapons that made my people sit up and take notice. Janus came to our attention through our investigation of Moriarty, and I got sent in to find out more and then take him down.”

“Do what you need to with the rest of the gang, I have no interest in them. But not Alec. Whatever is going on, it isn’t him, and I want him back. He needs care, not prison.”

“The great James Bond, talking about someone needing care.”

“Shut it, Arthur,” Q said quickly, knowing that James would jump in with fists instead of words at this point. “It's the drug the Americans put him on. He's not acting in his right mind.”

“He seems perfectly sane to me. But fine.” Arthur heaved a put-upon sigh. “Come undercover with me. What will your cover story be?”

“Maybe James can be your brother? Or maybe a friend?” Merlin ignored the tension and looked between the two, projecting an air of calm reasonableness.

“The problem is that James looks nothing like me. A friend or acquaintance may not be good either. Cousin, maybe?”

“Fine, as long as we can get Alec back.”

“Just don't fuck up my arrests.”

Q stayed out of it now that they were just growling and the possibility of them attacking each other seemed to be off the table. Instead he pictured his earwig blueprints to see if he could make any modifications to make them smaller and less noticeable. Alec — Janus — might remember them, and notice James and Arthur wearing them.

There was the option of sending them in without the earwigs, but he had no intention to be left out of the loop on this. He’d offer his brother a chance to listen in, too.

He was hopeful that James would be able to break through to Alec again. If that failed, well, now that they knew where he was, they could always find a way to drug him. Then they could remove him from the situation under cover of treating Janus for a medical emergency. He smirked. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d done something like that.

 

~~~~

 

“This is my cousin, Tony.”

Alec’s — Janus’ — cold green eyes were dismissive. “Can he do the job?”

“Of course, sir.” It was… strange to see his... what? Sort-of brother-in-law? like this. He glanced at James out of the corner of his eye. This must be killing his other sort-of brother-in-law. He couldn’t tell what James was thinking. He had known it would be a mistake to bring James along undercover. His idea would have been better.

James stood like a statue, his eyes never leaving Janus, his face impassive.

Janus’ eyes raked James. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I can do whatever you need me to.” James paused, waiting a beat, before adding, “Sir.”

Janus’ eyes narrowed, appraising them. Then he winced, screwing his eyes shut as if in pain. He reached up, and instead of his usual habit of scratching his chin, Janus pinched the bridge of his nose.

Arthur exchanged a confused glance with James.

After a moment Janus lowered his hand, looking a bit pale. “Very well. You’re hired. Provisionally. Your first assignment is to find one of ours who has gone missing. A kid called Jory Kendrick.”

Arthur didn’t let his expression shift as he recognized the name of the kid he had arrested the night before. _Shit._ James and Q had been right. He hadn’t thought the kid would be missed right away, and certainly not by Janus.

“Of course, sir.” He nodded respectfully to Janus, then jerked his head at James, and they headed to the door. They needed to discuss their next step before this operation went tits up.

 

~~~~

 

Aleksei reflected on the new guard, despite the headache that had hit him during their interview. He winced as the pain abruptly doubled. The headache seemed to come and go, but it hit harder with each wave. He rummaged through his desk looking for paracetamol, hoping it would help.

Brian Walsh had been one of Moriarty's men; his cousin had no such ties. And there was something about him…

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James confronts Aleksei, trying to get Alec back.

 

Aleksei brought his Browning up as he entered his flat. Someone was inside. He stopped, surprised, when he realized it was his new employee, Walsh’s cousin, Tony-something-or-other.

“What are you doing here?”

Tony-whatever-his-name-was raised his hands slightly, showing a decided lack of weaponry. “I need to talk to you, Alec.”

“That’s not my name!”

“Yes, it is. Please, Alec. You need to listen to me.”

“Why should I?” He re-aimed his Browning. Why did the muzzle of his gun keep drifting away from the other man?

“You’re Alec Trevelyan, my lover. You were drugged, and now you’re having problems with your memory.”

What? That made no sense. But this man knew his real name — “You’re MI6, aren’t you? They betrayed me and killed my lover.” He brought his Browning back up, aimed, and started to squeeze the trigger.

“Alec, look at me. I’m your James!”

He flinched, his finger automatically easing off the trigger. “You’re not James, you don’t even look like him!”

Whatever his name was looked pained. “What does your James look like, then?”

“Tall. Taller than you. 6’2. He’s more muscular. His hair is black, and wavy, and his eyes are dark blue.” Then he spat, “You look _nothing_ like my James.”

“Can I show you some pictures of us?”

Sure that the pictures would be fake, _photoshopped_ , he agreed.

The other man reached behind him, and Aleksei pulled up the damn pistol _again_ to cover him, while he pulled out a small tablet.

“Here.” The man touched the screen, then held it up to face him, swiping every so often to change the pictures. “These show the two of us.”

There were images of him and this man. Both of them young, some of the images showed them as more than friends. They looked real, not fake as he had expected. How? He blinked, trying to clear his suddenly blurred vision.

“This is the two of us and Q. He’s our lover, Alec. The three of us are in a relationship, and we make it work.”

He gave his head a little shake, trying to dislodge the buzzing in his ears, and frowned at the other man. A proper triad relationship? Here, in this world that was built around dyad relationships? Were they the ones that lived in the flat he had woken in, six months ago? His head hurt too much to figure that out. He looked at the pictures again.

The man fake James called Q looked slightly shorter than the two of them, with wild dark hair and hazel eyes. His heart thumped at how… comfortable the three of them looked together. He and his James had never found their third.

“I think you’ve fused the two of us, me and Q. Your James sounds like a mixture of us.” The fake James looked at him with sadness. “It may be hard for you to accept a relationship between the three of us if you can’t remember.”

He frowned at the fake James. Why would a proper triad relationship be difficult to accept? But the fake James didn’t give him a chance to respond, instead showing him a picture of a young boy, and saying the impossible.

He gaped at the man. “A son? How can I have a son?”

The fake James looked uncomfortable. “It’s a long story, but I’m telling you the truth. Aiden is your son. The three of us are raising him together.”

He nodded. It was good that the boy had a stable triad to raise him. Wait. Was he actually starting to _believe_ the fake James? He brought his free hand up, digging his fist into his temple to release the sudden pain flaring behind his eyes.

“Alec? Are you all right?” The fake James sounded concerned.

Why would he be concerned? What was the point of this unbelievable story?

“Alec, answer me.”

He brought his Browning back up and pointed it at the fake James. Why wouldn’t he just _shut up?_

Pain slammed into him and he gasped. It was as if something had taken a bite out of the back of his neck, removing his skull where it sat on his spinal column and the first few vertebrae. His jaw fell open as he panted in an attempt to bring the pain under control.

His gun hand wavered.

“Alec?” The voice was worried now.

He opened the eyes he hadn’t realized that he’d closed to see the fake James coming closer, hand stretched out towards him. He whimpered; the top of his skull felt like someone had peeled it away to scoop out his brain.

Distantly, he heard the fake James’ voice snap, “Q, get the medical team up here, _now.”_

Those words didn’t make sense, but he was too busy trying concentrate on breathing through the pain to figure them out.

“Alec, please. Put your gun down. Let me help you.”

Why did the fake James keep using that name? He lifted his head and looked into eyes that were the wrong color blue. “I’m not Alec. Not anymore. Not since MI6 betrayed me.”

“I know you were betrayed, but not by me. Alec, it's me, your James.”

The fake James had said that before. That he was confusing the fake James and someone named Q, combining them somehow in his memory of James. Was fake James telling the truth? He wasn’t sure of anything any more. He ducked his head, his shoulders hunching, as he tried to escape the giant hand pressing down on his head and neck.

“James?” He could barely hear his own whisper. He swallowed convulsively, nausea rising in time with the pain. Everything seemed to be getting dark; gray pressed in around him, dimming his vision.

“Oh, thank God. Alec.” Strong hands held him, gathering him close.

Pain stabbed through his head again, squeezing. It no longer mattered if this James was real or not. He missed his soulmate so much. He'd take this version if it was all he could get. The chance to have James again…  “James? Kiss me. One last time…”

“Last? Oh, God. Q, where the hell is that medical team? Alec? Alec, listen to me. Stay with me.”

James held him tighter, and he thought maybe they were on the floor now. Warm lips pressed against his in a kiss that was familiar and brand new all at once. He tried to make his hands hold on to James, but they felt clumsy, out of his control.

Someone — several someones — burst through the door. James! He had to protect James! Then the pain surged back, overwhelming this time, and he lost the battle to stay conscious.

 

~~~~

 

James sat next to Alec’s bed, head in his hands, listening to the monitoring machines’ thankfully incessant beeping. He’d been so scared when Alec collapsed into his arms, but that fear had paled before the terror of hearing Alec ask for a last kiss.

He looked over at the door when it swung open.

“James?”

He was up, striding across the room to embrace Q, holding him tight. “Matthew.”

“How is he?”

“Unconscious. Still. But the doctors say it’s not a coma.”

“That’s a relief.”

A scuffling noise caught his attention, and he let Q go, turning towards their son. “Aiden? Are you all right?”

Aiden looked at him, chocolate eyes looking even darker against his pale face, and nodded hesitantly. Then he looked like he wanted to say something, but changed his mind.

James noted critically the amount of leg showing at the bottom of Aiden’s trousers, and the wrists showing out of the sleeves of his shirt. Concentrating on Aiden’s clothes was easier than worrying about Alec. They’d need to get their son new clothes soon. He was outgrowing everything in his closet.

Then Aiden exhaled, his face firming into determination. “Will Dad be all right?”

He hesitated. “I – _we_ – promised never to lie to you, Aiden. No one is sure what will happen when,” he refused to think it might be _if_ instead, “your Dad wakes up.”

With an unhappy expression, Aiden asked, “Can’t you lie just this once?”

“Oh, Aiden.” Q untangled himself to draw their son into a hug. When he let go, he asked, “What’s really on your mind?”

“If… If Dad never…” Aiden looked guiltily at Alec, lying so still on the bed, then back to them. He squared his shoulders. “If Dad doesn’t get better, will they send me back to _her?”_

“Like hell.” The expletive slipped from him, even though they were all making an effort to watch their language around their son.

Aiden looked relieved, but then Q said, “No one is going to make you go anywhere you don’t want to, I promise. But if you ever do want to go back to… to Sarah, you can.”

“Like hell.”

That sounded so wrong in such a young voice, but Q spoke before he could.

“Language!”

Aiden turned sulky. “Pop said it first.”

Q shot him a glare — _you see what happens?_ — and then focused back on their son. “Yes, but you know we’re trying to raise you to at least _appear_ to be a nice, well-mannered young man.”

Aiden looked down, mumbling, “Sorry.”

The door opened again. A nurse came in, giving them a curious look before realizing she ought to keep her eyes to herself and hurried towards the bed.

They were in the secure ward of the hospital. MI6 agents — and prisoners — regularly recovered there, so the staff was familiar with the necessity to keep their mouths shut. It was the best place for Alec now. No one could get in to hurt him, and… well… If Alec woke up… odd… he wouldn’t be able to get out.

The nurse pulled the sheet down, exposing Alec’s chest, in order to check the sensors attached there. Then she set up the blood pressure machine, and wrapped the cuff around his biceps.

He almost jumped when Q nudged him.

“Those are odd tattoos. What do you think they mean?”

He shrugged, studying the cloud under Alec’s left arm and the tree peeking out over his right hip. “I don’t know. They’re damn good work, but why would Alec let himself get tattooed?”

**~~~~**

Aleksei woke up, relieved to find the crushing pain in his head had vanished. He lay there in wonderful pain-free bliss before opening his eyes.

He was back in his own bed, in his own bedroom, staring at his own ceiling. He absently reached up to scratch through his beard, and encountered familiar scar tissue instead. His stomach twisted. Had it all been a dream?

What did he remember from before the dream started? Oh yes. He and Dayesi, in this bed, making love. He felt the ghost of warm lips against his, but it was a hard male body.

The fake James had kissed him in the dream, when the pain had gotten bad. He clutched at the fading memory. Maybe the other man hadn’t quite been his James, but it had felt like him there at the end.

Rory landed on the bed next to him and curled into his side with a thump.

“Silly cat.” He petted Rory, missing the little white fur ball from his dream.

From the angle of the sunlight coming through the window, it was mid-afternoon. Why was he lying down in the middle of the day? Had he overslept?

He needed to get moving. He shoved the covers back and got up.

Rory gave him a grumpy mraow at being displaced, but curled up again in the warm spot he’d left on the bed.

He lifted his left arm. His storm cloud was where it was supposed to be; he traced the familiar lines with relief. Not a tattoo. And there, on his right hip, the little tree stood among the ridged scars. He traced its lines, a bit disappointed that it was still a generic tree, not a rowan. But that was the dream, wasn’t it? Maybe this tree would stay as it was, or become a different tree. Maybe he’d find their third soulmate some day.

The wall calendar caught his eye. He frowned. He remembered — he shook his head. He _thought_ he remembered it being a month earlier, the last time he’d been in this room, and he’d been in the other world, the _dream_ , for at least six months, but — he peered at the calendar again, and then strode to the window. The view outside was nearly the same as when he’d… left. If he’d been gone for six months, the seasons would have changed. Was it really only a month later?

His time in the other world had to have been a dream. Except… according to the calendar, some time had passed. A month that he didn’t remember. What had he been doing?

There were clothes draped over the chair. They looked a bit more casual than his current style, but were obviously his. Maybe he had taken them off when he went to bed? With a mental shrug, he pulled them on. It was time to venture downstairs.

**~~~~**

Alec examined himself in the mirror, and then ran his fingers experimentally over his chin and down his side. His eyes confirmed what touch told him — nothing but smooth skin. Why was he expecting to feel scars?

Then he studied the two tattoos. He contemplated the cloud, tracing its lines, a feeling of sadness washing over him. The tree was next. He traced it with a  sense of wistfulness.

What did they mean?

He wanted to be angry — he’d been tattooed against his will, even if technically it had been him. He had no memory of the six months he’d been Janus. There had been a memory of being _somewhere else,_ but that had already faded.

James and Q didn’t understand the — the _comfort_ that he felt from the tattoos. To be fair, he didn’t understand either. But he couldn’t be angry that his other self had gotten the tattoos. They had clearly been important.

They had found a sketchbook in the flat that he’d occupied as Janus, filled with sketches of the storm cloud, the tree, and James — although it was a James that seemed to be James and Q merged. The James in the sketchbook had dark, wavy hair and stormy blue eyes instead of his James’ dark blond hair and ice blue eyes, or Q’s untamable curls and hazel eyes.

Strong arms came around him, and he leaned back into the embrace, lifting his eyes to meet James’ in the mirror.

“Are you all right?”

He smiled. “I’m fine.” He’d resent being handled as if he would break, but James — and Q — had reason to. He still found it hard to believe that he had lost six months of his life to another personality.

James nuzzled his neck, then murmured, “Q is waiting for us,” into his ear.

He smiled. “Well. Let’s not keep him waiting any longer.”

  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Moriarty decided that he was going to track down Janus and find out what happened.

 

Jim slipped through the crowd, anonymous, rather than striding forcefully through. Seb trailed him, unhappy with what he had planned. Well. Tough. When Seb was the sociopath in charge, then Seb could make the decisions.

Skyy squirmed a bit in his hands. He soothed her while keeping an eye out for his target. Ah. There. He got a bit closer to the man, then murmured, “Janus,” with a questioning lilt.

The man he spoke to stiffened, looked at him warily, and pushed the boy at his side behind him. “I’m sorry?”

“All right. Aleksei then.” Jim smiled, making sure it was one of his more innocuous ones. Hmmm… how odd. It didn’t appear to be working. 

Janus half turned to speak to the boy behind him. “Go find your Papa.”

“But Dad — ”

“Now.”

After casting an apprehensive look at him — good, there was  _ some _ sense there, at least — the boy started walking in the other direction, casting glances back as he walked away.

“I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I’m not Janus or Aleksei.”

He tilted his head. The man he knew as Janus was holding himself differently. He was clean-shaven now, too, instead of the beard, and his hair was growing out of the close buzz it had been in.

Skyy mewed, struggling to get out of his arms to get to her human. He watched Janus, curious to see what the man would do.

Janus ignored the kitten. Not deliberately ignoring her, the way he might if he were pretending, but  _ actually _ ignoring her, as if he didn’t know her at all. As if she weren’t important.

He realized sadly that this really wasn’t his friend Janus. He huffed, his mouth twisting into a disappointed moue. “I’m sorry; I must have made a mistake. So sorry to have bothered you.”

He turned away, knowing that Seb was at his heels, and aware of Alec Trevelyan’s eyes warily tracking him. He nuzzled at the top of Skyy’s head. “It’s all right, baby. Daddy doesn’t remember you, but you can stay with Uncle Jim and Uncle Seb.” He kept walking, ignoring the strangled sound of protest from behind him.

Should he consider taking down MI6 in honor of his friend Janus? After all, it was now quite apparent that Alec Trevelyan wasn’t Janus at all, and it might be quite entertaining to fulfill his friend’s plan. Perhaps he’d look into it — after he finished playing his games with the younger Holmes brother. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love reviews, comments, and any other sort of communication. Feel free to stop in to say hi. You can find me on tumblr at leavesdancing.tumblr.com.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Touch Up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11477334) by [Zephyrfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephyrfox/pseuds/Zephyrfox)




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